


To Never Leaving Him the Fuck Alone

by rea_of_sunshine



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak Gets Divorced, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Tinder Trope, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 16:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_of_sunshine/pseuds/rea_of_sunshine
Summary: Everything goes awry when Eddie misses his flight and is too loud about his Tinder preferences. Richie's just there to wallow in the mess, really.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom & Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 46
Kudos: 648





	To Never Leaving Him the Fuck Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](https://sippingonsouthernrains.tumblr.com/post/188736825091/stuckyrecs-imagine-your-otp) I saw. 
> 
> Sorry the other Losers aren't in here. I tried adding them but it turned into a whole thing, so please enjoy Eddie and Richie being a mess with a splash of Ben and Bev being supportive buds.

Eddie Kaspbrak was sprinting through the airport. He wasn’t normally one for running, let alone in public, let alone wearing his new blazer and nice leather shoes. But goddamn it, the situation called for it. He knew people were staring as he blew past them, his chest heaving, heart slamming, and yeah. Maybe he looked like a madman. Maybe they were hoping for a show, like maybe he was racing down some one-who-got-away in a terminal, and they would all get to see Eddie reach his beloved and fall to his knees, begging for forgiveness like they were in some fucking cheesy romcom. 

But no. He was just about to miss his flight. A very important flight, mind you. The _last_ very important flight that would leave from LAX for two days. Which was already fucking ridiculous. In what world are flights not whipping between LAX and LaGuardia every twenty minutes? Eddie fucking Kaspbrak’s world, apparently. 

God, he was so close. He could almost smell gate 39B. And then he saw it. In his tunnel-visioned, panic-hazed mind, he saw the digital clock flashing just over the corridor to the bathrooms. 5:49 PM, it teased, and Eddie froze, full-stop in the middle of his sprint. The bag he’d been dragging crashed into his knees, and he stumbled. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” he said, whipping his wrist up to check his watch. It still said 4:03! 

Then, he tried to remember the last time he’d checked his watch, and with a dull dread blooming in his stomach, he remembered that it had proudly declared 4:03. 

“You couldn’t have lasted two more hours?!” he yelled down at it. A few heads swiveled around at him, and he huffed, shoving his face into his hands. His flight had left twenty minutes ago. 

She was going to kill him. That was just it. He’d missed his flight back to New York, and he was going to miss the divorce proceedings, and so they’d still be married, and Myra was going to fucking kill him. 

Some small part of his brain told him divorces didn’t work like that. He didn’t have to stay married to her if he didn’t want to, even if he missed the proceedings. They’d just reschedule. But rescheduling meant he’d have to stay married to her until _at least_ both of their lawyers were free again, and _that_ would be what killed him. 

He sighed again, looking around. He needed a fucking drink. 

It wasn’t his fault he missed the flight. Really, it wasn’t. It was fucking_ Bev’s_ fault. He’d flown out to see her, and it was his last night, so they’d gotten drunk—he was celebrating, come on—and he’d woken up late. Too late. And stupid hungover. He’d barely had time to tell her goodbye properly before he was tearing out of her and Ben’s apartment, flying down the stairs, frantically hailing for a cab in lunchtime LA traffic. He was always shit at hailing cabs, and it didn’t help when he bent over to wretch on the concrete, all of the night before spilling back out of him. 

It was a miracle a cab stopped for him at all, and he’d all but flung himself inside, yelling, “LAX, step on it!” 

The cabbie snorted at him. Actually snorted. 

“Hope your flight’s not for another four hours,” the cabbie said, motioning to the absolute gridlock around them. 

He’d probably have gotten to LAX faster walking. 

He wheeled his little carry on to the nearest bar and flopped down at the only empty stool, his forehead in his palm. 

His phone chimed in his pocket. 

_make it?_

It was from Bev, and Eddie groaned, getting ready to slide his phone back into his pocket when it buzzed again. It wasn’t another message from Beverly. Instead, it was a notification from Tinder, saying perkily, _You have a new message from Adam!_

He nearly slid it back into his pocket anyway. He’d only downloaded it for shiggles and gits with Bev. Without her and Ben, his being on a hook-up app with a picture of him in shorty shorts suddenly felt a lot less funny and a lot more humiliating. It wasn’t the first picture on his page, but it was there. Eddie was barely out of the closet, and _apparently_ not finalizing a divorce anytime soon, and yet, there he was on Tinder. 

Plus, he barely understood how the stupid app worked anyway. He could hear Bev laughing drunkenly in his ear the night before. 

“No! No! Left to right is yes,” she giggled, draping herself over his back and sloshing some of her wine onto their cream couch cushions. As Ben laughed at her spilling the wine, Eddie thought suddenly how lucky they both were. Myra would have had a stroke right then and there. 

“Was that even English?” Eddie asked her, trying to will away the complex emotions pushing through him. He was happy for his best friend. Yes, so, so unbelievably happy she’d met Ben. He was happy for her. He was also jealous. And sad. And hating himself for not being one-hundred percent happy, even though he was one-hundred percent happy _for_ Beverly. It was a complicated bag. 

Eddie flagged down the bartender, ordered a scotch. If he wasn’t leaving, and he wasn’t drinking, he was in serious danger of vomiting again. The bartender brought his drink, and he sucked it down gratefully. 

He opened the app. 

The new message from Adam blinked. 

_Hey;)_

Eddie rolled his eyes. It was like he was fourteen again, and not in a good way. Fourteen in the way that everyone was just trying to get their rocks off and no one was any good at it. He’d had his first kiss at fourteen, a boy, back home in Derry, whose name he’d never known. 

He backed out of the message without answering and found himself staring down at the stack of cards, a man’s bulge staring back at him, thinly veiled through his briefs. Eddie scoffed, swiped left, Bev’s coaching pulling through his drunken haze from the night before. He sipped more at his drink, swiping through a few pictures and faces and names, just getting the hang of it. He knew he was probably being overly critical, most of them flitting away to the left, but whatever. He was stuck without a flight, stupid hungover, and going through a divorce. Sue him. 

After Jonathan with a too-white smile and full beard slid to the left, Eddie’s screen filled with a sultry, ridiculous pout resting on the lips of a man wearing a _Zoolander_ t-shit. The man had big, goofy glasses and freckles, and something kicked in Eddie’s chest. 

“What the fuck kind of a grown-ass man is named ‘Richie’?” Eddie sneered, if only to cover the kick. From the corner of his eye, Eddie saw the man sitting next to him look up and glance down at the phone in Eddie’s hands. Eddie swiped left, just to be done with it. 

“Whoa, hard pass on that one, huh?” The guy asked, clearly talking to Eddie. “Not even gonna read his bio?” 

Eddie glanced up at the guy, ready to tell him to cock off and mind his own business, when he stumbled. The guy staring back at Eddie, big, goofy glasses, freckles, and half a cock-sure grin on his lips, raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, shit. You’re…” Eddie said, immediately flushing. It was the guy, the Blue Steel guy, _Richie_. The guy, Richie, threw his head back and laughed. His fingers seemed to be shaking against the bar. 

“It’s cool, man. I’d swipe left on me, too, but for what it’s worth, it’s short for Richard,” he said, still grinning, and Eddie’s chest gave another dumb kick. He felt hot from his ankles to his scalp. Humiliating. 

“You’re…” Eddie tried again, still staring dumbly, his mouth flopping open and closed. He’d never been good with confrontation. The guy’s grin faded. Something dark passed over his face, and then, he shook his head and held out his hand. 

“Richie Tozier,” he said, a glint in his eye, just as Eddie burst out with the rest of his sentence.

“Hotter in person.” And as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Eddie groaned. He felt sure he was going to combust. Actually, fucktually combust, right there in the airport. They’d call TSA. He’d be arrested as a goddamn terrorist, and that would be the end of him. He’d die still married to Myra, die right there on the barstool sitting by Richie Fucking ‘Blue Steel’ Tozier. It would be a whole thing. 

“Oh, my God,” Eddie squeaked, his eyes clenched shut. He was fumbling around for his wallet to pay his tab and get the fuck out of there. He couldn’t find it. Holy hell, had someone stolen his wallet? As if his day couldn’t get any worse? He nearly elbowed Richie in the face just trying to whip his shit up. He’d dine and dash. He would. He so fucking would. 

“Hey, man, calm down,” Richie said, and there was laughter thick in his voice. Eddie’s ears had started ringing as soon as he’d blurted out ‘hotter in person’, so maybe he’d been laughing the whole time that Eddie had been freaking out. He didn’t know if the idea relieved him or pissed him off. “I’m flattered,” Richie went on, still grinning. “The Blue Steel never was my strong suit.” 

Eddie paused in his scramblings to stare at the guy. It wasn’t wrong, what he’d said, that Richie was hotter in person. He was. His grin made his whole face come to life, eyes squinched up by the sides, behind those glasses. And the freckles, holy hell, Eddie was always a sucker for freckles. It wasn’t wrong, what he’d said, just fucking embarrassing. 

The guy didn’t look to be scared off though. In fact, he seemed to be looking at Eddie with some mix of fondness and excitement and a heaviness Eddie didn’t understand. Eddie felt his heartrate slow. 

He settled back on his barstool. 

“Why put it as your profile picture if you know it’s not your strong suit?” Eddie huffed, more to himself than to Richie, but Richie laughed again anyway. Eddie looked up, surprised. He wasn’t used to people finding him funny. Usually, people just thought he was uptight. Or neurotic. Or both. Beverly was the first person Eddie could remember genuinely liking him, and he’d been in college when he’d met her. That’s how pathetic his life was. 

“I thought it was funny, man. I don’t know,” Richie answered, shrugging a shoulder up. Eddie suddenly thought about the boy at fourteen. Eddie couldn’t remember his name, or his face, really, but the gesture on Richie seemed jarringly familiar. Eddie furrowed his brows, tried to sweep the feeling away. He flagged down the bartender for another drink, and the man brought it. 

His phone, still resting on the bar, started buzzing, Beverly’s face and name filling the screen. He sighed.

“Girlfriend you’re _not_ cheating on by swiping left on me?” Richie asked, grinning down at the phone and at Eddie. God, why did he have to grin so much? It made Eddie want to push him over and climb on top. 

Eddie blinked. 

Well, that was a forward thought. 

“Uh, no,” Eddie answered dumbly, picking up his phone and answering the call. “Hey, Bev,” he said. 

“That’s not good. The fact that you’re answering is not good,” Bev said. 

“Why’d you even call if you didn’t want me to answer?” Eddie asked irritably before taking a sip of his drink. 

“You missed your flight?” Bev asked, as though that much weren’t obvious. 

“Yeah.”

“Shit, Eddie, I’m so sorry,” Beverly breathed. “You want me to come pick you up? I can be there in a couple of hours. Maybe less if I lay on my horn.” Eddie snorted. 

“No, it’s okay. I’m drinking away my problems.” Eddie glanced at Richie, who had his phone out, swiping, ironically enough, through Tinder. He looked like a man on a mission, swiping left and left and left and left. 

“Are you going to try to get another flight?” Bev asked in his ear. Eddie barely heard her, his heart slamming as the guys went left and left and left and left. 

“No more flights,” he answered on autopilot. Left and left and left and left until his own smiling face and name were filling Richie’s screen. The horror spread through him slowly, even as Richie flashed his phone up at Eddie and grinned. Bev was speaking in his ear. Eddie didn’t hear her. 

“No,” Eddie gasped, reaching out for Richie’s phone. “Richie, stop!” Richie giggled, pulling the phone to his other side, higher than Eddie could reach. Eddie leaned over him, switching his own phone to his other hand so he could wave it to no avail at Richie’s phone. The man giggled again, clicking through Eddie’s profile, past the picture of him and Bev, the picture of him smiling with a dog buried in his arms—Richie _aww_’d at that one. 

“Richie?” Bev asked. “Who the fuck is Richie?” 

“Some guy,” Eddie answered, swatting at him more fervently, knowing exactly what the last picture was. “On Tinder,” Eddie went on, too busy trying to fight the phone away from the giggling Richie to think about the implication of his words. 

“The fuck, Kaspbrak!” Bev howled, and Richie pulled the phone further away. Goddamn, why did the man have to have such long-noodle arms? “You’re hooking up with a guy from Tinder right now?” Bev said in his ear, and Eddie groaned, the last picture finally finding its way onto the screen. 

There Eddie stood, in all his glory, wearing the shortest fucking red shorts known to man. He and Bev had gone running, and he stood there, hands on his hips, breathing deeply, barely glancing back at her when she’d snapped the photo. He was glowing with sweat and the sunset, and his ass looked great, both in the shorts and in the picture. It was humiliating.

Richie let out a low whistle. 

“Christ, Eddie!” Bev said in his ear, and Eddie put his head down against the bar, heat filling him all over again. 

“I gotta go,” he told her numbly.

“I’d fucking say,” she said, laughing, and hung up. He was too humiliated to pull his head off the bar, but he did slide back into his own seat, humiliated, _again_, at how far of a slide it really was, how close into Richie’s space he’d gotten. All for shit. 

“Shoulda used that one as your profile, Eds,” Richie said, leaning close, dropping his voice down low. Eddie rolled his head to the side to glare at him. 

“Don’t tease me, and don’t fucking call me that,” he spat, and Richie grinned. 

“From where I’m sitting, you’re the tease,” Richie said, his eyes skimming down to Eddie’s ass. He supposed it _was_ poked out, what with him leaning dramatically on the bar and all. He sat up quickly, still glaring. 

“Listen, _asshole_,” Eddie growled, but that was really all there was. He just wanted Richie to know he was being an ass. Richie’s humor faded, and he held his hands up, palms out, Eddie's goddamn shorts still staring at him from the phone in Richie’s hand. 

“Sorry. Sorry, you’re right,” Richie said quickly, and Eddie huffed. He wanted to be angry, but really, Richie was hot. And he felt a little more flattered than anything. He’d worked hard for the ass he has. His phone buzzed. 

_PLEASE USE PROTECTION!!!_

It was Bev. He rolled his eyes and put his phone away. Then, he picked his drink back up and stared at it for a second. 

“I don’t know why I downloaded the stupid app, anyway,” Eddie said. “I’m supposed to be getting a divorce today.” Richie was silent for a moment, then shrugged. The gesture tugged at Eddie again. He took a deep swallow of his drink. 

“Sounds like as good a reason as any for a hook-up app,” Richie said.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this anyway,” Eddie said into his glass.

“What? You’re telling me you don’t go around telling strangers in airports all your personal stuff?” Richie asked, looking so genuinely confused and so obviously taking the piss that Eddie couldn’t help but snort. 

“Not a favorite pastime of mine, no,” he answered, smiling. Richie relaxed, a smile on his lips. He flagged down the bartender, ordered two more drinks. When they arrived, he slid one over to Eddie and kept one for himself. 

“Did you love him?” Richie asked after taking a sip of his drink. The words seemed to pry out of Richie, like he seemed almost hesitant to broach the subject. 

“Her,” Eddie corrected, finishing off his last drink and starting on the fresh one. He’d be feeling these soon, but for now, all he felt was blessedly not hungover anymore. 

“Oh, shit. You’re bi. Sorry man, I just assumed,” Richie said, but Eddie just snorted again. 

“Yeah, no. You were right to assume. I am gay. That was a big problem for us, actually.” Richie didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or to sympathize, so he just stayed silent, until Eddie cut him up a mischievous look. Then, Richie burst out into laughter, and Eddie warmed. 

“How’d you end up married to a woman if you’re gay?” Richie asked, after his laughter settled. Eddie sighed. 

“I tried to tell her before. I mean, I’ve known since I was fourteen and kissed my first boy. I mean, it was my first kiss overall, but yeah.” 

“Tell me about it,” Richie urged, smiling softly. Eddie snorted into his drink.

“You want to hear about my first kiss?” Eddie asked, cocking an eyebrow. Richie smiled, took a deep pull on his drink. 

“Yeah, man," he said after he swallowed. "First kisses are magical.” Richie’s eyes sparkled, even behind his glasses. Eddie huffed a laugh. 

“I’m sure it was,” Eddie conceded. 

“You don’t remember?”

“I think I sort of blacked out. Or maybe blocked it out.” Eddie huffed another laugh, took another swallow of his drink. 

“That bad, huh?” Richie asked, smiling a bit. There was pink tinge to his cheeks, and his smile was curbed, evidently, by the sympathy of Eddie having had a bad first kiss. 

“I remember that I wanted to kiss him so much, and when I finally did, I just fucking _sprung_.” Eddie mimed the motion like a tiger leaping on its prey, and Richie snorted. 

“A man who takes what he wants, huh?” Richie mused, grinning. Eddie shook his head. 

“No. Oh, no. I fucking busted my nose on his face. There was blood _everywhere_.” 

“No,” Richie moaned, but he looked like he was barely holding back laughter. 

“Oh, it was so embarrassing. My mom took me out of school for a week after. She said the floors were too slick because I’d told her I slipped in the hallway.” 

“A touch over-protective?” Richie asked, grinning widely, and Eddie groaned.

“God, you have no idea.” Eddie drank to that. He was glad he left, but he missed her sometimes. He turned his thoughts back to the kiss. “You know, I had the biggest crush on him, and I don’t think I ever even knew his name.”

Eddie knew he hadn’t known his name, had never been willing to learn it. It was too dangerous to know his name, especially in a town like Derry.

“The one that got away,” Richie said wistfully. His smile was softer now, and as Eddie stared at him, he almost wished it had been Richie all those years ago. He seemed like the kind of guy fourteen-year-old Eddie would have been very confused as to whether he wanted to murder or French.

“Guess so.” 

“And your wife?” Richie asked after a moment, after a drink. Eddie sighed.

“She was persistent. And I was a coward,” Eddie finished lamely. 

“How so?” Richie probed gently. Eddie took another swallow of his drink.

“I lived in a super homophobic town. It just…seemed easier to marry her, to pretend that I wasn’t gay, or maybe that we could live happily together even though I was.” Eddie shrugged. “Then, we moved out to New York for school, and we were settled, and it was fine.” He really didn’t know why he was telling Richie all of this. He just felt…comfortable with Richie. “And then I started seeing all these queer people out, living their lives, _enjoying_ their lives.” Eddie laughed humorlessly. “I told her I wanted out.” 

“How’d that go?” Richie asked. It didn’t feel like he was poking fun at Eddie. He seemed genuinely concerned, so Eddie answered, albeit dryly. 

“She threw a potted plant at me, and I got the first flight out here.” 

“Oh shit,” Richie said, leaning back in his seat, giving Eddie a quick once over. “You know, I did wonder why you had mulch in your hair,” he said, reaching a hand out. 

“Shut up,” Eddie squeaked, his hand flying to his head, combing wildly through, and Richie burst into laughter. Eddie rolled his eyes. “Not funny, asshole.” 

“So, this is, like, recent, huh?” Richie said, once he’d stopped laughing. Eddie found himself missing the sound. 

“Yeah.” He’d been basically living with Beverly and Ben for the past month, just until he could get a meeting put together for the divorce. And he’d gone and fucking missed it.

“I’m sorry, man,” Richie said, reaching out and resting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Hey, Richie,” Eddie asked tentatively, leaning back a bit until Richie’s hand fell from his shoulder. A shot in the dark. Wishful thinking. Trying to make Richie fit in the places the boy had left. 

“Yeah?” 

“Have we met before?” Eddie asked, and Richie blinked. 

“No,” Richie answered firmly after a moment, then cracked a smile. “I mean, at least I don’t think so. I think I’d remember that cute little face,” he said, reaching out and pinching Eddie’s cheek. Eddie swatted him away, tamping down on any fondness and pushing it far, far away. 

“What are _you_ doing here anyway?” Eddie asked, turning back to his drink and taking a long sip. It was easier to pretend the blush was from that. 

“What do you mean, Eds?” Richie asked, turning back to his own drink. 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie grumbled. “I mean, why are you at an airport bar? Don’t you have a flight to catch or something?” 

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Richie asked, grinning at Eddie. 

“I did swipe left on you,” Eddie countered, raising his own shrug. Richie let out a big laugh, throwing his head all the way back. 

“And immediately said I was hotter in person,” Richie retorted, still laughing. Eddie felt himself blush all over again. 

“I regret every moment of my existence,” Eddie said simply, and Richie bellowed louder. The other people at the bar were giving him dirty looks, and Eddie gave them right back. They were having fun. No need to be dicks about it. 

“No, I don’t have a flight to catch,” Richie answered, circling back to the question Eddie had almost forgotten he’d asked. “My flight got cancelled, actually.”

“Oh, where were you going?” 

“I was going to fly out to Maine, see some friends, shoot the shit, you know.” 

“Oh, yeah? I grew up in Maine,” Eddie said, feeling proud that he was able to connect with Richie’s life in some way. Which was stupid. 

“No kidding,” Richie said, and Eddie thought there was a flicker in his eyes. 

“Yeah. Little piss town that I’m sure you’ve never heard of,” Eddie said, smiling. Not many people who weren’t from Derry had ever heard of it. It was one of those places you immediately forgot after you left. Eddie himself could barely remember it. Richie just smiled back at him, not saying much. Eddie shifted. Both of their drinks were empty. 

“Well, listen,” Eddie said after a long moment. “I don’t know what your plans are, but I’ve got some friends here in the city.” He was sure his face was burning. He didn’t know why he was doing it. He wasn’t normally the type for picking up strangers, but again. Richie hardly felt like a stranger. “I’m sure they’d love if you came out for drinks with us,” Eddie finished, not looking at Richie. 

“And you?” Richie asked softly, and Eddie’s eyes flicked up to him. He had nice eyes, Eddie thought. Brown behind his glasses, and big. And the freckles, of course. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there, dingus,” Eddie answered, resorting back to teasing to cover how soft he felt. Richie’s lip twitched up.

“I meant, would you love it if I came out for drinks with you,” Richie asked, the twitch of his lips pulling into a full-on grin. Eddie rolled his eyes and hopped off his barstool. He picked up the handle of his bag—suddenly remembered he’d shoved his wallet in the front zipper after security, idiot—and glared at Richie. Richie didn’t seem to quaver beneath it, only seemed to be spurred on by it. He paid for his own drink, and Eddie pulled out his wallet for his, and they walked from the bar together, Eddie swaying only a little from the drinks he’d consumed. He called Bev as they walked.

“Eddie fucking Kaspbrak,” she said as soon as she answered, her voice practically jittering through his phone. “I need _everything_!” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Come get drunk with us,” he answered instead, and Bev squealed.

“Ohmigod,” she said. “You’re still _with him_?” 

“Yes. Where should we meet you?” 

“You are so not getting away with this. I need details, do you understand?” she asked, but he could hear her spinning around the apartment, gathering things, rousing Ben.

“_Yes,_ Beverly,” he said, rolling his eyes. He glanced up at Richie, who was smiling down at his phone. Eddie blanched to see his Tinder profile still pulled up. He elbowed Richie while tucking his own phone against his shoulder.

“Christ, Richie. Can I get one call in without you being a menace?” Eddie asked, yanking Richie's phone away and tucking it into his pocket. Richie laughed as Eddie moved his own phone back into his hand. 

“Where should we meet you?” Bev asked, excitement still thick in her voice. 

“I dunno. You’re the one who lives here.” 

“Right! Right. Okay, we’ll pick you up in an hour, how about that? Traffic should be okay by now.” Eddie checked his watch. 4:03, it read, and Eddie wanted to yell at it all over again. He decided to take Bev’s word for it. 

“Okay. I’ll grab my bags, and we’ll see you outside.” 

“Okay, Casanova,” Beverly said, and Eddie hung up on her. 

“Hey, Eds,” Richie said, still walking by his side. 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said.

“Right, sorry. But, uh. If you checked your bags in on a flight that left three hours ago…” His voice trailed off, and Eddie froze. 

“_Fuck_,” he hissed, bringing his palm up to his forehead. He was a goddamn idiot. A fucking moron. His bags were on the flight to New York, even though _he_ wasn’t. He was an idiot. 

“You should probably call the airport, make sure they don’t burn a bag that shows up without an owner or some shit,” Richie said, shrugging again. Eddie didn’t have time to be fascinated by it. 

He dialed LaGuardia quickly and stayed on the phone the entire time that Richie puttered around baggage claim, trying to get a grip on his own bags. They finally came out to him, and Eddie managed to talk the people at LaGuardia into _not_ tossing his bags. Not an easy task, considering he was pretty thoroughly intoxicated. 

The whole ordeal took up the better part of the time they would have otherwise spent waiting on Bev. By the end of it, they only had a few moments before Ben was sliding up to the curb, Bev leaning out of the passenger window, grinning wildly. 

“Eddie fucking Kaspbrak,” she shouted, for the second time that day. Eddie huffed, leading Richie over to his friends. She unfolded herself from the car and pulled Eddie into a tight hug, as though he hadn’t seen her only hours earlier. 

“Hey, Bev,” he said against her shoulder as she gripped him. He waved a small hello at Ben over her shoulder. 

“He’s fucking cute, Eddie,” Bev whispered, and Eddie felt himself redden. 

“Shut up,” he whispered back to her. When they pulled away, she pulled Richie into a tight hug as well, as though she hadn’t _literally_ just met the guy. 

“Whoa, a hugger,” Richie said, looking at Eddie. He was about to apologize, to pull Beverly off Richie, when Richie’s arms wound up around her waist, squeezing tightly before lifting her off the ground and spinning her. “I like that,” Richie said, beaming as he set her back down. Beverly laughed, pulling back but still resting her hand on Richie’s chest. 

“I like him, Ed,” she said, and Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“Get in the car. Please. Both of you,” Eddie said, opening the front and the backseat doors. 

“Such a spoil sport,” Bev said, brushing past Eddie to climb back into her car. 

“You think that, too?” Richie asked Bev, poking Eddie teasingly in the side. He yelped, jerking away. Richie paused, giving him a devilish look. “Ticklish?” Richie asked, and Eddie shook his head quickly. 

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Definitely not,” he denied, but Richie’s smile only widened. 

“I will definitely keep that in mind,” he said, dipping down and sliding into the seat. 

“You’re going to keep in mind that I’m _not_ ticklish. Yeah, sure, okay, weirdo,” Eddie said quickly, huffing, shutting the car door and shaking his head. Idiot. He tapped on the trunk, and Ben popped it from inside so that Eddie could throw his and Richie’s bags inside. Once he was done, he walked around to the other side and climbed in behind Ben.

“Hey, Ben,” Eddie said, smacking him on the shoulder once he was settled. 

“Glad you’re back,” Ben said, smiling at him in the rearview as he pulled out of his parking spot. Eddie huffed and rolled his eyes. 

The ride to whatever bar Ben and Bev picked was filled with Bev and Richie "shooting the shit", as Richie had called it. They hit it off instantly, laughing so loudly that it made Eddie flash warm. Ben joined in when he wasn’t fighting determinedly through traffic, and it all felt so good and normal that Eddie didn’t mind so much having missed his flight. Maybe he’d just stay there in LA. He could ask Richie out for coffee. The four of them could double. They could bike the boardwalk and kick up trouble in museums. And Eddie could be happy, actually, actually happy, for the first time in his life. 

Once they parked around the block from a club thumping with music, Ben lead them all inside, and they settled into one of the only free tables, a big, round booth with a sticky Formica top. Eddie debated the stickiness, weighing the pros of not having to touch it against how goddamn hot it was steadily becoming in the club in his blazer jacket. After a quick moment of debate, Eddie shrugged it off and rolled his sleeves up, compromising with himself to _not_ touch the tabletop. Richie’s eyes poured over the fresh skin. Oh yeah, the tantalizing forearms. 

Eddie snorted but felt warm in a new way, all the same. 

As everyone settled, Bev ordered a round for everybody, and they cheered when a server brought it over. 

The four of them popped back the shots, each grimacing. Richie looked up at Eddie, laughing, and the world stopped turning for a second.

Eddie swallowed. He knew the way he was looking at Richie was heady. 

“Come on,” Bev said, taking Ben’s hand and tugging him out of the booth. “I want to dance.” Eddie barely paid them mind. His eyes were glued to Richie, the line of his throat as he swallowed another drink, the part and quirk of his lips.

“You know how to cut a rug, Eds?” Richie asked, half-shouting over the din of club music. Eddie snorted.

“Hardly,” he said, but Richie only grinned wider. He took Eddie’s hand, dragging him out towards the dance floor. Eddie shook his head. He really wasn’t a dancer, even as drunk and reckless as he was feeling. But Richie stepped close anyway, his hands planted firmly on Eddie’s hips, and dragged him close. 

They weren’t dancing, really, just standing with their thighs interlocked, swaying a little, pushing against one another. Richie had his head tilted down, and Eddie’s arms wound up around the taller man’s neck, pulling him even closer, breathing each other's warm air. Richie’s thumbs pressed into Eddie’s hipbones. He was practically vibrating. 

Eddie had never danced like this, the agonizing grind of hips, but he quite liked it. He liked how taut Richie felt under his palms, how close Richie kept him. He liked Richie tilting his jaw forward, and he liked tilting his own jaw back, teasing, grinning. He pressed his hips closer to Richie’s, and Richie practically growled. 

“You really are a tease, aren’t you?” Richie asked, his breath brushing across Eddie’s lips. Eddie flicked his eyes up to Richie’s, and they were dark behind his glasses. Lustful. 

“Is that okay?” Eddie whispered, leaning up and brushing his lips across Richie’s again, just the ghost of a kiss. He was drunk and reckless and fearless. Fire raced through him, and Richie’s hands slid around to press into his back. Richie hummed, his forehead still pressed against Eddie’s. Then, he grinned.

“Do I get to see those shorts in person?” Richie asked, and Eddie scoffed, shoving Richie away. 

“God, you know how to ruin a moment like no other,” Eddie said.

“They don’t call me ‘Trashmouth’ for nothing, Eds,” Richie said, grinning, pulling Eddie back against him. He slid Eddie’s hands up around his neck and rested his own respectfully on Eddie’s waist, thumbs rubbing through the thin fabric of his button-up. The vibe was more middle-school-dance than drunken-club-grind, but Eddie didn’t mind. 

Except, now, they were just swaying, staring at one another.

He was suddenly nervous. It was the first moment he’d gotten to be really alone with Richie, even though they weren’t really alone. It felt like they were. And Eddie liked Richie. For whatever stupid, illogical reason, he _really_ liked Richie. 

And he _really_ hated what was about to fall off his tongue. 

“I’ve never had sex with a man,” Eddie blurted. 

Richie pulled a step away in shock, the record skipping. 

It was a step sideways from what Eddie really wanted, namely, to sex Richie, and a step backward from flinging himself straight off a fucking cliff. Eddie furrowed his brow, fingers digging into Richie’s shoulders. Richie’d stopped their swaying, and Eddie felt his entire body heat. 

He wondered what it was about Richie Tozier that made Eddie make a fool of himself again and again. 

“I’m…sorry?” Richie said after a long moment. Eddie shook his head again, his eyes still clenched shut. 

“That was...” Eddie started, and trailed off. It was fucking embarrassing is what it was. He felt stupid and hot all over. Eddie guessed, in his own defense, he was new to the whole gay-dating thing. But fuck, he didn’t think he was an idiot. He thought it would take more than being a little drunk and dancing on a hot guy for him to forget basic social mores. His fingers were clenched tight in the shoulders of Richie’s shirt, and he pried them open, preparing himself. 

He’d blown it. Any moment now, Richie would ease himself back from Eddie and tell him he had to go feed his dog or chew off his arm or something much more enjoyable than dancing in a club with a pathetic wannabe-divorcee like Eddie. 

“I’m really sorry,” Eddie said, barely opening his eyes. “That was inappropriate.” When he could see again, he looked anywhere but at Richie. He was scanning the crowd for Ben and Bev, searching for an anchor or a safe place to lick his wounds once Richie rejected him. 

Eddie just hoped he did it fast. His hands were still on Eddie’s waist, and it was agonizing. He felt like he was losing the boy at fourteen all over again. Not that he really remembered losing the boy, but the ache was always there. Maybe it was some Pavlovian conditioning taking place in his brain. Gay attraction signals Eddie drowning in the awkwardness and longing of his first gay experience. 

“Hey,” Richie said softly. Eddie hadn’t realized Richie had dipped his head down, trying to catch his eye. Eddie'd been staring resolutely at the back of Bev’s denim jacket. “Where’d you go there?” Richie asked, and he sounded so like one trying not to startle a cornered animal that Eddie’s eyes swung around. Richie’s hands were warm on Eddie’s hips. 

“What?” Eddie asked. 

“You were zoning out.” 

“I wasn’t. I was just…” Eddie debated telling him the truth, telling him that he was preparing himself for Richie to back away. But then, he figured he’d suffered enough, fuck being emotionally vulnerable. “I think I’m going to go find Ben and Bev. Call it a night, you know?” Eddie pulled his arms off Richie and stepped back. He didn’t look up, didn’t want to see the quietly relieved look that was sure to wash over Richie’s face. 

It wasn’t a big deal. Really. He’d just met Richie. 

But it still sucked. 

He found Bev and Ben easily. They were swaying together much like Eddie and Richie had just been. God, Eddie just wanted to go home.

“I think I’m going to take off,” he called to them over the music. Bev turned away from Ben to frown at him. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, and Eddie nodded. Tried to smile. “Richie?” she called, and Eddie shook his head. 

“I think I blew it.” 

“Oh, honey,” Bev crooned, reaching out and touching Eddie’s face.

“It’s alright,” Eddie lied. Bev frowned like she knew it was a lie. She probably did. 

“We’ll take you home,” Ben offered, smiling kindly at Eddie, but Eddie waved the offer away. 

“No, no, you guys stay. I’ll get a cab or something.” 

“It’s fine. We don’t mind!” Bev said, looking over at Ben, who nodded seriously. 

“No, really. I’m just going to claim your bathtub and watch bad TV.” Eddie pushed out a laugh, and Bev didn’t look convinced, but she looked like she knew that Eddie really did want to be alone. 

“Okay…" she said after a moment. "Call if you need us?” 

“Sure. Sober up before you drive home,” Eddie warned, and when he turned away, he didn’t see Richie in the crowd. 

He’d just opened the door to the street, hating himself, when an unexpected chill bit into him. He remembered he’d left his suit jacket inside at their booth, and as he turned back to grab it, he all but slammed into someone, his nose making a hard connection with what felt like a collarbone. 

“Oh!” Eddie said, stumbling backwards, his hand going to his nose. “Ow, fuck.” When he pulled his hand away, there was a little droplet of blood. Then, he glanced up and realized that, _of course_, it was Richie Tozier he’d run into. 

“Good times,” Richie said, laughing a bit. Eddie blotted at his nose. 

“What?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“Nothing. Uh, you left your jacket,” Richie said and held it out. “Thought you might need it." Then, Richie unfolded the jacket so that it would be easy for Eddie to shrug into. Eddie leaned into the bite of the wind for a second, considering the metaphorical white flag of his jacket, before giving in. He unrolled his sleeves quickly and slid his arms into the jacket Richie held out. 

“Thanks,” Eddie said meekly. 

Richie’s hands smoothed down the shoulders of the jacket for a brief moment, then disappeared. 

Eddie allowed himself one last glance at Richie, just to fully appreciate what he’d gone and screwed up, before he stepped to the curb and hailed a cab. Or tried to. He was shit at hailing cabs, but just this once, just one time, he thought he might be on the pitying end of the cabbie gods. He was wrong. Cab after cab flew by with their lights off—or on, it didn’t matter, it was like Eddie was invisible—and Richie stepped up to warm the place by Eddie’s side. Eddie urged his hand higher into the air. 

“Did…did I do something wrong?” Richie asked quietly, and Eddie’s arm in the air faltered. It thudded down against his thigh. 

“What?” Eddie asked. It was almost sharp, and for the first time, when he looked at Richie, Richie looked away. 

“I mean, it’s cool if you’re not into it. I just thought we were…I don’t know. Connecting?” Richie said. Then he laughed a bit, rubbed the back of his neck. “Moto need-o wi-fi,” he said, voice and motions jerking like a robot. Then, he groaned. “Ahh, that was stupid. Never mind, I just figured out what happened back there,” Richie said, laughing at himself, his eyes far down the neon-lit street. Eddie could only stare. A beat passed, then two. 

“We were connecting,” Eddie answered, once he realized it had been too long. Richie’s eyes pulled away from the street to look at Eddie. 

“Well…” Richie started, his eyebrows pulling together. “Why’d you leave?” he asked finally. 

“I thought you would want me to,” Eddie said, staring at Richie, mirroring Richie, his own brow furrowed low. 

“What? Why the hell would you think that?!” Richie demanded, staring at Eddie like he’d grown a third head. Skipped right over the second and went for the third. 

“Because I was being weird!” Eddie retorted, feeling suddenly defensive at Richie’s dubious stare, and then doubly so when Richie cracked a smile. 

“Yeah, you were being weird,” Richie said, and what was Eddie supposed to do except assume he was being mocked?

“Shut up, you lump,” Eddie spat. But he’d called Richie a _lump_, of all things, so he couldn’t blame anyone but himself when Richie started full-out laughing. 

“Oh, God,” Richie wheezed, clutching his side. 

“Fine,” Eddie said tersely, turning back to the streets, cars whirring by. He held his hand back up, hoping again that just once, just one fucking time a cab would slide right up and take him away from this bullshit. But alas. 

“Eddie, no. Come on. Come on,” Richie said, his laughter slipping away as he reached out and tugged Eddie’s arm down, turning him towards him. Eddie stared up at Richie in the glimmering streetlight. There were neons all around them, the blue sign of the club behind them the closest and lighting Richie’s face a sallow hue. Making his freckles turn purple. Richie swallowed. “You were being weird. But in the best way, in the way that made me really," Richie exhaled, "_Really_ want to kiss you.” 

Eddie’s heart slammed. He found himself looking at Richie’s lips. They looked chapped and worried, and Eddie really, _really_ wanted to kiss him too. 

“So do it,” Eddie challenged.

But Richie didn’t. He just stared at Eddie. 

“You really don’t remember, Eds?” Richie asked quietly after a long moment. He flicked down eyes that looked so open and raw that they distracted Eddie from how badly he wanted to kiss Richie, just for a second.

“Remember what?” Eddie asked, his heart slamming. 

And then, Richie was leaning down slowly, pulling their mouths together, kissing him, pushing against him like he’d spent his whole life keeping away. He was warmth, and summer, and everything spun around Eddie, those lips against his, his hands clutching lamely at the front of Richie’s shirt. 

He was kissing Richie, and Richie was kissing him, and he was fourteen, hiding under the bleachers, kissing the boy he’d wanted so, so much, the boy he’d forgotten, and when he pulled away, he saw Richie. It was Richie. 

“Rich,” Eddie started, then was cut off again by Richie’s lips, nipping just once more before releasing him. 

“Please tell me you remember, Eds,” Richie whispered, his thumbs stroking against Eddie’s cheeks. 

He did. He could see it now, Richie at fourteen, gangly and laughing under the bleachers. Eddie had kissed him, his very first kiss.

Eddie leaned close, shock and awe running through him at equal speed, then pushed Richie away, his hands still tight in the front of his shirt. 

“You’re bullshitting me,” Eddie said, then kissed him again. It seemed like the world was tumbling. _Richie_ had been the boy. God, thirty years later, and Richie was _here_.

“’m not,” Richie said against Eddie’s mouth. Eddie kissed him again. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Richie shrugged.

“Figured if I fucked it up back then, I’d have a fresh start now.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Eddie asked. He bit at Richie’s lip. He’d never kissed Myra like this. Like he wanted her with everything in him. Like he’d missed her all his life. 

“Me? You’re the one that left,” Richie said, still against Eddie’s mouth. Eddie didn’t pull away.

“You broke my nose,” he said. 

“Baby,” Richie said. He pulled away, suddenly serious as he cupped Eddie’s face. Then, he grinned like all the light in the world was shining through him, or out of him. Eddie thought maybe it was. Then, he said, “You broke your own nose,” and Eddie shoved him away, snorting. 

“Just cause I couldn’t stand looking at you,” Eddie said, but he was smiling. He couldn't believe it. He was happy. Really, _really_ fucking happy. 

“Oh!” Richie said suddenly, patting his pockets. “Do you still have my phone?” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Again, you sure know how to win a moment,” Eddie teased, fumbling around in his jacket pockets until he found where he’d stuffed Richie’s phone in the airport. He passed it over and stood while Richie thumbed around on it.

“Shut up,” Richie said, so Eddie did, just watching as he grinned down at it. 

“You’d better not be looking at the shorts again,” Eddie said, glancing over to see that, yes. In fact, Richie had been looking at the shorts. Then, his own phone chimed in his pocket, and Richie looked up at him, still grinning. 

“Go on,” Richie urged, nodding towards where Eddie’s phone chime had emerged. Eddie took his phone out, still watching Richie suspiciously. Then, he looked down at his phone.

_Somebody Super Liked You! Find out who._

Eddie rolled his eyes, still feeling terribly, terribly happy. He clicked on the notification, and swiped left through a few guys until Richie’s face, the goddamn Blue Steel, was back on his card stack, now shimmering blue. 

“You Super Liked me?” Eddie asked, raising an eyebrow up at Richie. Richie just smiled.

“Read my bio this time?” he requested, so Eddie did. He tapped through a few of Richie’s pictures, a few goofy ones of Richie alone, a couple with him tucked in, laughing with friends. Then, he slid up to read Richie’s bio. 

Eddie stared at it. Then up at Richie. Then back down at the bio. 

“You just changed this,” Eddie said, glancing up at Richie. His heart pounded, and Richie shook his head, smiling. 

“I didn’t.”

“Liar.”

“I swear!” Richie raised a hand. “Scout’s honor.” 

Eddie looked back down at the bio. It said:

_Just out here looking for my Eddie Spaghetti. _

* * *

“And that’s the story of how my husband missed his flight, missed his divorce, and remembered that he forgot me,” Richie said. He had his champagne glass raised in a toast, and he grinned out at the reception party. 

Eddie had been sitting, leaning back at Richie’s elbow and listening as his new husband recounted to their friends the story they’d all heard a dozen times. He knew Richie found it hilarious, now that it had all worked out in their favor, but it made Eddie a little sad, thinking about all the years they’d missed out on because he’d forgotten. Eddie sat forward now and looked out at their small wedding party. 

“To be fair,” Eddie said, then, glanced back up at Richie. “I’d forget you again if you ever left me the fuck alone.” 

The crowd let out a loud burst of laughter, and Eddie grinned at Richie. 

“To _never_ leaving him the fuck alone,” Richie hollered, raising his glass. Their friends met the toast.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you all enjoyed them being dumb.


End file.
